


Home run

by MisanthropyMuse



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arguing, Awkward Dates, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Poverty, Sarcasm, Social Issues, Work problems, i feel like i should add more tags but idk, mentioned Courfeyrac/Combeferre, mentioned Enjolras/Grantaire - Freeform, money problems, they're just dumb boys being cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 08:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisanthropyMuse/pseuds/MisanthropyMuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>«You know you’re singing to our headphones out loud, right?» Feuilly asked, trying to be calm and polite, even if he couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising in disbelief.<br/>The stranger stared at him for a really long second before replying: «Yes.» </p><p>(they met, they argued, they fell in love)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home run

It was five in the morning and the bus was empty when Feuilly managed to get on it and slouched on a seat in the back.

He rubbed his eyes, ran his fingers through his red hair and tried not to catch his reflection on the window, not wanting to realise how tired he was.

It was an hour-long ride to his house, so he tried to make himself comfortable on the hard little plastic seat and get some sleep, even if he couldn’t help startling at every stop and the uneven road made his head bump against the window every time he tried to lean on it.

He had almost found a comfortable enough position when the bus stopped and someone got on and leaned against one of the poles near the doors.

It wouldn’t have been a problem at all, Feuilly didn’t expect to be the only person in the entire city to take a bus at five in the morning, if the stranger hadn’t been singing.

At five in a Monday morning, this motherfucker was on a bus with his headphones on, singing whatever stupid song he was listening to as if his life depended on it.

He was also sort of dancing, holding the pole and swinging his hips, like something in between a lap dancer and a golf player.

Feuilly might have laughed at him if he hadn’t been so damn tired.

«Hey!» he shouted. No response. The stranger was in the middle of a seriously heartfelt refrain and couldn’t hear him.

Feuilly searched his bag and got the aluminium foil that had wrapped his dinner in, rolled it into a ball, waited for the end of the refrain and threw it at the stranger, hitting him on the head.

«Hey!» he shouted again. The stranger turned around, taking down his headphones, and looked at him, questioning.

«What?» he even dared asking.

«You know you’re singing to our headphones out loud, right?» Feuilly asked, trying to be calm and polite, even if he couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising in disbelief.

The stranger stared at him for a really long second before replying: «Yes.»

They stared at each other. Feuilly was waiting for him to realise what he had just said, while the stranger was waiting for a sign that allowed him to put his headphones back on.

When he understood that waiting was no use to solve that situation, Feuilly talked again.

«You know it’s five in the morning, right?» he said.

The stranger checked the time on his iPod. «Half past five, actually.»

Feuilly snorted, in spite of everything, and the stranger smiled.

«You know there must be some law against people who sings in public places at such hours, right?» he tried to get a serious face back on.

The stranger’s smile widened.

«I don’t really think so. I’m a lawyer, so I should know.»

Now Feuilly burst into a proper laugh. He looked at the stranger’s baggy camo Bermuda shorts and oversized printed shirt and raised his eyebrows again. «You? You’re a lawyer? Seriously?»

The stranger looked offended.

«Well, sort of. I’m studying law. Kinda. Look, I know laws, okay? And two of my best friends are real lawyers, so fuck you.» he replied, fumbling with his words and flushing a bit.

Feuilly laughed again.

«Yeah, I bet they are. What are you, some sort of hippie gang that fights for the legalization of weed and the rights of the poor while blogging about it on their Macs?» he said, and he tried to sound the nastiest he could. The stranger frowned.

«Actually, you pretentious bourgeois asshole, we’re a group of young adults that fights for human rights. You know, hippie stuff like free health care and education, abolition of discrimination against people of colour, women and queer people, things you’ve probably never heard of.» he bit back, harshly. «But I guess you can’t be bothered to worry about this stuff, in your perfect stable day job, in your lovely suburban house with your beautiful stay-at-home wife and your adorable white-haired parents who just want you to be happy!» he added in a mocking tone. The silence that followed his words resounded in the empty bus.

Feuilly got up from his seat, slowly, trying to keep his hands from shivering. In his entire life, he had never wanted to punch someone this badly.

«What the fuck gives you the right to do this assumptions about my life, you fucking twat? Do you think I’d be on this fucking bus at this fucking time if I were anything of what you just said? Have you got some brain left or there’s just shit in that head of yours?» he said, slowly walking towards the stranger, who is still frowning at him.

«The same thing that give you the right to think I’m a stoned brainless hippie.» he replied. «And how would I be wrong, tell me, I’m so curious.» he added, still mocking.

Feuilly covered the last steps between them and grasped the front of his shirt, slamming him against the pole.

«I’m an orphan.» he hissed, and the stranger’s face instantly dropped, but he went on. «I’m going back to my suburban studio flat which I can barely afford, after having done a night shift at the shitty factory I haven’t been kicked out yet because nobody has yet found out that I’m gay.» he finished, panting for the effort of holding back his rage, and he expected the stranger to lower his eyes and flush and apologise.

«You were just as wrong as I was.» he said instead, and Feuilly really wanted to headbutt him.

«I’m really too tired to argue about how yours was a totally different level of wrong, so I’ll just let you know that it was and let you think about it. Maybe you can bring it as a topic for your next book club meeting, or whatever it is.» he said, letting go of his shirt and taking a step back.

Before the stranger could answer, the bus stopped and Feuilly picked up his bag and walked out.

«What’s your name?» the stranger shouted behind him.

Without looking back, Feuilly raised his middle finger towards the other man, and kept walking a

*

Three weeks later, Feuilly was washing the floor of the hospital where he now worked as janitor. The detergents gave him headaches and his back hurt from all the time spent scrubbing toilets that morning.

He was tired and stressed, and he was already dreaming of going back home and crashing on his bed.

He had just finished scrubbing an obstinate dirt stain on the floor next to the entrance and he was leaning against the wall to get some rest when he heard a familiar singing voice approaching the doors.

He turned around with a start and saw him, and even if he was now wearing dark blue jeans and a black tank top, he instantly recognised his long, dark dreadlocks and his voice.

The stranger saw him as he walked in and the smile he beamed both annoyed and charmed Feuilly.

«Are you stalking me or what?» the redhead asked as the other took off his headphones and stopped in front of him.

«I actually tried, but you never took that bus again. And you never told me your name.» the other man said, throwing a look at Feuilly’s name tag.

«What are you doing here, then?» Feuilly asked, even if it was none of his business.

«Bringing lunch to a friend.» the other replied, showing him a plastic bag. «Dr. Combeferre, he’s a paediatrician, you know him?» he asked, and Feuilly nodded. Dr. Combeferre was one of the few doctors who greeted him when he saw him and who called him by name, instead of just ‘hey you’. He had cleaned the vomit of his kids so many times they were almost friends by now.

«The factory found out?» the stranger asked, interrupting his train of thoughts.

«What?» he said, confused.

«The factory where you worked. They kicked you out because they found out that you’re gay?» the other asked, and Feuilly puffed out a little laugh.

«Oh, no. They kicked me out because I passed out during the second 14-hours long shift in two days. So I looked for a little less stressing job.» he explained and the stranger looked seriously upset.

«You should fucking sue them. They can’t do this to their workers.» he said, and Feuilly shook his head, smiling sadly.

«They can if they make you sign a contract that allows them.» he replied.

«I have to tell Enjolras.» the other said, taking out his phones and writing a text.

«Who’s Enjolras? The leader of your book club?» Feuilly said, now getting nasty. «What can he do about...»

«Hey! Bahorel!» he heard Dr. Combeferre voice shouting from behind them. The stranger raised his head and waved a hand in his direction.

«Good morning, doctor.» Feuilly said, coldly.

«Do you know each other?» Combeferre asked, beaming a smile.

«Not really.» Feuilly replied.

«He harassed me on a bus, three weeks ago.» Bahorel replied with a grin, putting away his phone.

«Hey! I was just trying to make you respect public decency.» Feuilly said, indignant.

«Were you out naked again?» Combeferre worriedly asked, making Feuilly’s eyes widen.

«No! I was just singing.» he tried to excuse himself.

«He was singing out loud to his headphones on a bus at five in the morning.» Feuilly specified.

Bahorel puffed, rolling his eyes, and Combeferre laughed.

«He does that all the time. He just can’t help it. You should see him when he’s with my boyfriend, they can start choirs in the middle of literally any place.»

«Maybe I shouldn’t.» Feuilly laughed.

He knew Combeferre’s boyfriend. He had seen them kissing in the hall when he walked in for his job interview, and since he got the job he had seen him other times, waiting for Combeferre in the parking lot or bringing him food. They were the main reason why he was holding that job so dearly, despite how tiring and gross it was: because if that place could have a doctor so openly gay, they wouldn’t care for a janitor, and he felt safe there.

«You should see me and my flatmate. Much better music. Courf’s too upbeat for me.» Bahorel replied.

«You count ABBA as better music?» Combeferre said with a grin, raising an eyebrow. Feuilly burst out laughing as Bahorel flushed.

«Hey! ABBA are awesome, shut up! Courf has the music taste of a thirteen-years-old girl.» said Bahorel, lightly punching Combeferre’s shoulder.

«As if you didn’t like One Direction.» Combeferre replied, laughing.

«Okay, shut up now. Take your lunch and go away.» Bahorel said, pushing the plastic bag against his friend’s chest.

«Uh, thanks. How much is it?» the other asked, taking it.

«Courf paid for it. He got a call from work so he asked me to bring it.» Bahorel explained, and Combeferre sighs.

«They’re making him work too much. He hasn’t even got a case yet, and he’s more stressed than me.»

«About that...» Bahorel started saying, throwing a glance at Feuilly, but the redhead stopped him.

«No. Don’t. Shut up.» he said, putting a hand on his mouth. Combeferre looked confused.

Bahorel pushed Feuilly’s hand away and stepped away from him.

«I just texted Enjolras about that. I would like to get Feuilly to talk to us.» he said as Feuilly swore and rolled his eyes.

Combeferre looked at the janitor. «It could be very interesting to hear someone else’s opinion. You should consider it, Feuilly. Maybe you could come to a meeting, see what we’re about, and then decide.» he said. Feuilly lowered his eyes.

«I don’t think I’d fit in with you.» he muttered. Combeferre put a hand on his forearm, gently.

«Just think about it. Nobody’s forcing you.» he said, and Feuilly shyly nodded.

«I have to go now. See you, B, thank you again for the lunch.» he said then, smiling. He turned around and walked away, leaving them alone, in an awkward silence.

«I have to get back to work.» Feuilly said.

«Yeah. Now I know where to find you, anyway.» Bahorel replied, and the other rolled his eyes.

«See you, Feuilly.»

«I hope not.»

The smile that Bahorel flashed him as he walked out annoyed him so much it made him blush.

*

Feuilly’s hopes came true, at least for a few weeks.

Bahorel didn’t show up at the hospital any more, probably because he had no valid excuses to.

Every time he’d see Courfeyrac, Feuilly sighed. Of relief, of course, what else could he sigh for? He surely didn’t miss that obnoxious singing hippie.

And so, it was not relief what he felt when, one evening, while he was on a bus back home, he saw Bahorel’s mass of dreadlocks jumping on. He turned towards the window, trying to hide his face as much as he could. It was useless, because Feuilly’s red curls were far too much recognisable. He couldn’t see how Bahorel’s face lit up when he spotted him.

«Heeey! Man, it’s good to see you now.» Bahorel said with a relieved sigh as he sat next to him.

Feuilly turned around to throw a questioning and annoyed look at him, but stopped when he saw him. Bahorel looked thinner and paler, almost a bit sick. Even if he didn’t want him around, Feuilly couldn’t help being worried.

«Are you okay? You look sick.» he asked, and Bahorel laughed.

«Thanks, man. I just had some bad food poisoning, and I haven’t been eating much lately.» he replied, but Feuilly didn’t buy it.

«You sure you’re not still ill? You’re really pale.» he said. Bahorel lowered his eyes.

«I’m fine, trust me. I just need some rest and some real food, I guess.» he muttered.

Feuilly looked at him for a while, considering what the evidence was suggesting. He was not really in the position to help anyone, but he couldn’t let him like that either. He bit his lower lip so hard it was almost bleeding when he finally got to a decision.

«Okay, I’ll get you some real food.» he said eventually.

Bahorel didn’t understand what he meant.

«I’m inviting you over for dinner.» the other explained with a grin, and Bahorel didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

«I’m serious. I’m cooking you some real food and you’re explaining me how things really are, so that I can help you find a solution.» Feuilly said, looking at Bahorel right in the eyes.

«Do you know that we barely know each other and that you don’t owe me anything, right?» Bahorel asked, amazed, and Feuilly made a face in response.

They made the rest of the ride in silence, Feuilly looking out the window and Bahorel snoozing with his head reclined on the seatback. When they got to their stop, Feuilly gently shook the other’s arm to wake him up and pulled him to his feet.

Feuilly’s house was a little studio flat on the fourth floor on six, without lift. It was old but tidy. The wooden floor squeaked at every step and the walls needed to be repainted, but the furniture was new and clean, and everything was separated with beautiful dividers that seemed handmade.

«Wow.» Bahorel let out as he walked in. «This place is adorable. My flat is twice the space and thrice the mess.» Feuilly smiled.

«The pros of living alone. And everything is handmade or Ikea, so it’s also cheap.» he said, and smiled proudly at Bahorel amazement.

«You made this?» he asked, gesturing towards the entire flat.

«Most of it. I worked as a carpenter for six years before the shop failed, and I did carpentry in high school. I made those dividers at 16.» Feuilly explained, trying not to sound boasting.

«You could open your own shop, dammit. You’re so good.» Bahorel said, walking around.

Feuilly let him wander as he searched his cupboards for something to cook.

«Hey, is there something you don’t eat?» he asked, considering three different sauces.

«Never got to be choosy.» Bahorel replied, crouching next to one of the dividers to observe the images cut on them.

«Lucky you, you’ll get to taste my wonderful meat sauce, directly inherited from the fattest cook a foster house has ever seen. She tried to make us all as fat as her.» Feuilly said, getting a smile out of Bahorel.

«Adorable.» he commented, and he meant it.

As Feuilly made the pasta, Bahorel offered to set the table.

«You didn’t made these as well, didn’t you?» he asked taking out the dishes.

Feuilly laughed. «Not those. I have some hand-painted dishes in the cabinet over there, and some glasses I made during a workshop, years ago. Those are Ikea.» he explained.

«I had some embroidered tablecloths and handkerchiefs, but I had to sell them a few months ago.» he added, and Bahorel slowly shook his head.

«You say this as if it was nothing. God, I can barely roll a proper RYO and you can embroider and build things that actually work as they should. You’re amazing, man.» he said, in complete awe.

«And I can also cook you healthy food and make you sit down and talk about you.» Feuilly said, and Bahorel rolled his eyes, but he sat down anyway and patiently waited for Feuilly to ask. He owed it to him, after all.

Feuilly took his time, draining the pasta and slowly mixing in the sauce.

Then he brought the bowl to the table, served it and sat down.

Bahorel stared at the plate, full and steaming, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

«When is the last time you ate a proper meal?» Feuilly asked with a sigh. Bahorel smiled a bit sadly.

«I had pizza last week, does that count?» he replied, and, as Feuilly shook his head, launched himself on the plate, eating five penne with every fork.

«What happened, Bahorel?» Feuilly suddenly asked after a while, and Bahorel stopped abruptly.

He laid the fork on the side of his plate, took a sip of water and looked up at Feuilly. He sighed. He swallowed. He sighed again.

«I got fired.» he muttered. «We keep eating shit, and I keep getting sick. This last time, it was the third in six months. My employer can’t afford someone who can’t work, so he kicked me out.» he explained. Feuilly looked upset.

«And obviously, I haven’t found a new job, even thought I’m out all day handing CVs literally everywhere, even if they’re not hiring. And so we’re broke, we can barely eat and we probably won’t be able to pay the bills this month.» he added.

«How long has it been like this?» Feuilly asked, trying not to look pitying.

«Almost four weeks now.»

«And your flatmate?»

«Just as lucky as I am. He’s having very few clients lately. He's working on a big commission, though, now, so we hopefully won’t be kicked out of home.» despite everything, he still had hope. Hope in his friend’s skills, hope in his life, his future. Feuilly was amazed.

«Why haven't you asked your friends for help?» he most logic question came up, and it was followed by the most obvious answer from someone like Bahorel.

«They do what they can, but it's hard for everyone and we don't want to be a burden for anyone.»

«What about your Enjolras? Isn't he like the god of problem solving?» Feuilly tried again. He wanted to push him into actively looking from help.

Bahorel laughed, but it sounded sad.

«He's barely managing to work and study at the same time, and he's late on the rent too.» he sighed.

«I guess you were right, after all. We’re just a bunch of broken idiots with a lots of useless ideals and no luck.» he put his head in his hands, closing his eyes and pressing his palms on them, as if he was trying to hold back tears.

Feuilly couldn’t bear to look at him like that. He wanted to do something, anything, to help him. Even if they had barely met twice, he knew that exposing so much had to mean things were really bad for him.

«You know, I'm actually well on money lately. I could... I could give you some, if you’d let me.» he tried, hesitantly, hoping not to sound pretentious.

Bahorel raised his eyes, a sad smirk on his lips.

«You surely have better things to do with your money. I already took your food and I shouldn't have.»

«Oh, shut up. I do what I want with my money, and if this is buying you food, I do it. It's a loan, not charity.» said Feuilly, making a face.

Bahorel smiled, for real this time.

«I must look really awful if you're this kind to me.»

Feuilly punched him lightly on the arm.

«Maybe it's because, for how annoying you are, I prefer you singing than starving.» he said.

«How lovely.» Bahorel grinned. «I’m not starving any more, thanks to your magic sauce. I can sing for you now if you want.»

«Oh god no, spare me. Just help me do the dishes.» Feuilly said, pretending to be alarmed.

The evening went on nicely, between silly fake banters and awkward jokes. Bahorel managed to cut his hand with a knife, bleeding over the just cleaned dishes, so that they had to do everything again after Feuilly had given him a plaster. They spilled water and soap on each other, like little kids.

Eventually, when they collapsed on the couch, they were soaked and panting, but smiling and feeling as good as they hadn't in a quite long time.

«Hey, at what time is the last bus?» Bahorel suddenly asked, checking the time on his phone.

«Half past midnight.» Feuilly breathed out.

«Awesome, I just lost it. Fuck.» the other said. «Can I use your phone? I have no money on it. I'll ask someone to come pick me up.» he added. Feuilly puffed.

«What are you, twelve? It's too late. You can have the couch.» he said, and Bahorel was pretty sure he hadn't understood.

He asked him to repeat, and Feuilly did it with a grin.

«You must think I'm a real asshole if you're so surprised by me being nice.»

«It's just weird. You don't normally let people stay overnight if you barely know them.» he said, putting up his hand in a defensive way.

«Dude, I grew up in a foster house. Do you really think I'll deny hospitality to anyone?» Feuilly said, and Bahorel dropped his hands. He hadn't thought of it.

«You’re a blessing.» he just said, and Feuilly smiled.

«I'll get you dry clothes and a blanket.» he said getting up from the couch.

«Can I use your phone anyway? I have to tell Grantaire I'm not going home.» Bahorel asked and Feuilly tossed it at him before disappearing behind a divider.

When he came back, Bahorel had sent Grantaire a text and had already taken off his shoes and shirt. Despite how pinched he looked, he was still pretty hot, and as Feuilly saw the tattoos on his smooth, tan skin, he found his mouth suddenly very dry.

«Here you are.» he managed, putting the pile of fabric on the couch.

«One day I'll pay you back for all this, I swear.» Bahorel said with a grateful smile, putting on the t-shirt Feuilly had just regretted having brought him.

«One day. Now sleep. Goodnight.» Feuilly smiled.

«Thank you, Feuilly. Goodnight.» the other replied, with real, deep gratitude in his brown eyes, and the sweetest little smile Feuilly had ever seen.

He went to bed still a bit flushed, holding back a stupid smile. Before falling asleep, he gave in to his curiosity and went reading the text Bahorel had sent before.

"Hey it's Bahorel. Sleeping on hot ginger's couch. I'll explain tomorrow. Keep the number or iby."

He barely held back a laughter. So he was ‘hot ginger’ to Bahorel’s friends. Interesting. It had been years since someone had been interested in him, and even if this someone now was a hippie, revolutionary law student, it felt good. And maybe, maybe, some small, dumb part of him returned that interest.

With a half smile still on his face, Feuilly fell asleep wondering what the hell ‘iby’ meant.

*

The morning after, Feuilly woke Bahorel at six, let him use the shower and made him breakfast. He even offered to iron his clothes, but Bahorel refused.

«I haven’t eaten pancakes in ages. Where did you learn to do all this stuff?» he said, sitting at the table and smiling at his pancakes and cappuccino, both with whipped cream on.

«The same fat cook who made the meat sauce. When it was clear someone wasn’t going to be adopted, she started teaching us a lot of domestic stuff. And I’ve been living alone for the past ten years, so I’ve learnt something else in the meanwhile.» Feuilly explained, sipping his coffee.

«Ten years? How old are you?» Bahorel asked, perplexed. He looked barely twenty, but it was pretty obvious he was much older.

«Twenty-eight. Do I look older?» Feuilly said with a grin.

«Not at all. You look twenty. But you sound older.» the other said, without thinking about it, and Feuilly pretended to be offended.

«Nice way to tell me I’m boring, thanks.» he said.

«You’re not boring! I meant older as wiser. Like those cool high school kids when you’re in sixth grade. Or the grandpa with the war stories.» Bahorel explained, and Feuilly burst out laughing, making him smile.

«Do you want to sit on my lap and play with my beard?» he asked when he had enough breath, and Bahorel’s smile turned into a grin.

«I’d sit on you.» he said in a low voice, looking away, as if he didn’t want to be heard, but he clearly wanted to.

«What?» Feuilly sputtered, pretty sure to have heard right, but wanting to be proven wrong.

«I said your beard looks soft.» Bahorel replied, his grin getting wider. Feuilly expected himself to blush and be embarrassed, but instead a snarky reply came out of his lips without him even thinking about it.

«Oh, it is. But I let only good kids play with it.» he said, grinning as well, and surprising the other man.

«I hope I’ll prove myself worthy, one day.» Bahorel replied, and Feuilly just laughed softly in response.

«We gotta go, the bus is in ten minutes.» he said instead, looking at his watch.

Bahorel quickly finished his breakfast as Feuilly took all his stuff and his coat.

They got out and hurried to the bus stop at the end of the street. During the thirty-minutes-long ride, they sat next to each other in a kind of awkward silence, both wanting to talk but none of them knowing what to say.

When the bus stopped in front of the hospital they both got off of it and walked together up to the hospital entrance, where they awkwardly stood in front of each other.

«Last time we met here you told me you hoped not to see me again.» Bahorel said with a smirk.

«Yeah, I did.» Feuilly replied, a little smile on his lips. What now? He didn’t want to spend other four weeks without hearing from him, but he didn’t know if it was because of his do-gooder nature, or because he was interested in him in a more, well, personal way.

«Maybe I’ll drop by sometimes, when you less expect it.» Bahorel joked.

«Or maybe we’ll casually meet on another bus. It’s kind of a tradition now, isn’t it?» Feuilly replied. Bahorel laughed.

«Or maybe I’ll call you and ask you out, who knows.» he said, still laughing as if it was a joke, and Feuilly laughed as well.

«I’m sure you’ll find my number under ‘hot ginger’ in your flatmate’s contacts.» he said, unable to hold back a smug smile as he made the other blush. «Oh, and, by the way, what the hell does ‘iby’ means?» he asked, and Bahorel now laughed, even if he was still embarrassed.

«I’ll burn you. Some times substituted by ‘iky’, I’ll kill you, or ‘isy’, I’ll skin you. We’re very caring people.» he explained, beaming a smile, and Feuilly laughed again.

«I have to go to work now. Boss likes it when I’m early.» he said then.

«See you, then. Somehow, somewhere.» Bahorel said, sticking out a hand.

Feuilly shook it with a soft laughter. «Somewhen.»

«Soon.» Bahorel added, and it could have sounded creepy if his smile hadn’t been so sweet. Before Feuilly could say anything, the other turned around and quickly strode away, leaving him blushing and feeling dumb, alone in front of the automatic doors.

He followed him with his eyes and sighed as he turned the corner at the end of the street.

«I’m so fucked.» he muttered under his breath. «So, so fucked.»

*

As much as Feuilly hoped, and partly feared, not to see him again, he knew it was too late. They were both already so crazily invested in each other, even if Feuilly was denying the personal reasons as firmly strongly as he could, that it would have been crazy just to let go and forget it all.

There was a week of complete silence, were Feuilly fought against himself not to give in and ask Combeferre if Bahorel was okay.

And then, on a cloudy Wednesday morning, just when he had almost decided to go and talk to Combeferre, Feuilly got out of his bus in front on the hospital and Bahorel was there, sitting on a bench, with two coffees and a paper bag, his headphones on, singing quietly.

Their eyes met and they both smiled, trying to be smug in order not to look too happy.

«You dropped by.» Feuilly said, standing in front of him.

«I bet you weren’t expecting it.» Bahorel replied, taking off his headphones and handing Feuilly one of the mug of coffee.

«You got me. You waited all week just to surprise me or did something happen?» the redhead asked, taking the mug and sitting on the bench.

«I probably would have waited anyway, but I was actually busy. I got two jobs.» Bahorel replied, beaming a smile on the last words.

«That’s awesome! Where?» Feuilly was just as happy as he was. He had noticed he looked better than the last time, a lot less pale and a bit less thin, but he thought it could have been thanks to his friends.

«At RadioShack as warehouseman and at The Corinthe as part-time bartender.» the other replied. «This breakfast is my yesterday tips.» he added, opening the paper bag and taking out two filled doughnuts.

«You spent the tips of an entire evening to bring me breakfast?» Feuilly tried to look upset, because it was absurd and he should have never done it, but he couldn’t help feeling flattered.

«Well, yes.» He blushed lightly. «But yesterday was a lousy night. I usually get a lot more because most people there already know me and they all love me.» he added, with a fake innocent smile on the last words.

«And I told you I would have paid you back for the dinner.» he also said, and Feuilly just smiled lightly, shaking his head at the ground but taking a sip of coffee anyway, which made Bahorel smile.

«So you’re better. You don’t look like you’re starving any more.» he said after a while, and Bahorel laughed.

«Oh, yeah. Grantaire sold three paintings this week, we refilled all our cupboards. We also have hot water now.» he replied.

«Wow, what a treat.» Feuilly only partially joked. He had faced more than a winter without heat, and it wasn’t pretty at all.

They drank their coffees in silence for a while. Then Feuilly took a bite off of his doughnut without thinking about the filling and cream dripped on his chin. He wiped it away with his hand and then licked his fingers, because he didn’t want to reach for tissues in his bag and because he didn’t want to waste it. (and maybe because he had noticed how Bahorel tensed when he swirled his tongue around them)

«You still have some cream on your lips. On the right?» Bahorel said, a bit out of breath, and Feuilly could have used a tissue now instead of licking it away, but it was funnier like that.

«I-» Bahorel gulped. «I have to go now. I’m probably late for work.» he said, as Feuilly kept eating as if nothing had happened.

«Yeah, me too. Thanks for the breakfast.» Feuilly smiled, finishing his doughnut, wrapping up the paper bag and reaching out to throw it away in the trash bin next to the bench.

«See you, then.» Bahorel said.

They looked at each other for a moment, silent and still, in which Feuilly consider whether or not to give in to him. He decided that Bahorel had earned it.

«Yep, see you.» he smiled and then they both got up and shook hands and went their own way, smiling and lightly shaking their heads to the ground.

*

And it went on like that.

They never texted and never called each other, but they unknowingly started following a sort of pattern.

Bahorel would randomly show up in front of the hospital, with breakfast and a smile. Feuilly would wait for him every morning, just in case he was late.

Bahorel would randomly take the bus he knew Feuilly would take, and pretend to be surprised when he’d meet him. Feuilly would take the same bus every day, because he knew Bahorel would have been on it. Some times Bahorel would stay for dinner, some others he would just walk him home and go away. Feuilly made a point to buy a bit more of food every time he went shopping, just in case.

Some evenings, when he wasn’t too tired, Feuilly took the ride back to the city and went to The Corinthe, just to sit at the bar and annoy Bahorel while he was working. After the first time he did it, Bahorel had started wearing a slightly tighter staff t-shirt, and he wasn’t too sorry when he’d spill something on it by mistake.

They kept skirting around each other, teasing and joking, with smug smiles and rolling of eyes, keeping the lustful looks for when they thought the other wasn’t looking. And talking, above everything. Talking so much their throats would be sore when they left, talking about everything, from their childhoods to their past lovers.

Feuilly told Bahorel what it was like in the foster house, envying who was adopted and taking care of the younger ones who weren’t so lucky. How hard was to mingle with other people and trying not to envy them talking about their families.

Bahorel told Feuilly about growing up in the countryside, an only child with old parents, about expecting too much from life, dreaming too high. About his rage problems and how he would always get in trouble just to blow off some steam. About going to college only because his parents wanted him to be well educated, because they hadn’t got the chance.

Feuilly talked about how he was outed at sixteen, when some jerk took photos of him and another guy kissing behind the school and pasted them all over town. The other guy moved, and he was left there alone. They’d write him hateful notes and stick dildos on his locker. Even at the foster house, most of the guys avoided him, and some of them crawled in his bed at night, threatening him to tell everyone he had harassed them if he didn’t obey quietly. And about how terrified he was when he moved to the city alone, and how surprised he was when he came out to his co-workers and none of them had a bad thing to say.

Bahorel told him about his coming out, at eighteen, just before leaving for the city. His parents were surprised but accepting. His friends never spoke to him again. He told him about how he had worn a t-shirt saying ‘I’m here, I’m queer, now get me a beer.’ on his first day of college, and how he’d got in a fight with this group of idiots who had dared to call him a fag. How these three other idiots had joined him, just to make the fight even. They were Grantaire, Enjolras and Courfeyrac, who, later, as they sat together with ice bags on their faces, asked him if he wanted to join Les Amis de L’ABC, their group of human rights activists.

They fought as well, some times, when Bahorel reported something that had been said at a Les Amis meeting, and they could shout at each other for hours before realising they’d been arguing in supporting the same point from different perspectives.

Feuilly had cried once, after one of the dinners at his house, when Bahorel had asked him for the fourth time what was wrong and he had exploded, saying that he had got a phone call from someone saying that one of his old friends at the foster house had been found dead, hanged in a hotel room. Despite how much he wanted to stay and comfort him, Bahorel had left when Feuilly had asked him to. They had met a week later, at The Corinthe, and they had never talked about it again.

Months passed like that, with all those not really random meetings, and they got closer and closer. They could talk quietly and shout at each other, laugh together and punch each other in the span of two seconds, and then go drink something together to make everything alright again. No offence was ever intended, and none was ever taken.

Feuilly would find himself humming some song he had heard Bahorel singing, and Bahorel would some times tidy his flat only because he knew Feuilly wouldn’t have approved the mess.

At The Corinthe, Feuilly had met all the members of Les Amis. The famous flatmate Grantaire, who had winked at Bahorel and told him that yes, the ginger was hot indeed; Courfeyrac, who always tried to drag him into duets on a karaoke night; Joly and Bossuet, who always got their girlfriend Musichetta to give him free drinks; Marius and Cosette, who had never met their parents either and who hugged him the first time they met; Jehan, who had his same hair colour, and who Feuilly well remembered from a time when he had ordered several hundreds of wooden flowers at his carpenter shop; Éponine, who had once tried to steal Feuilly’s bike; and Enjolras, obviously, this blond Greek god who always shook his hand with an uncomfortable solemnity and who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life, but who could convince you of literally anything, from giving him your chair to overthrowing the government.

He met them all, he drank, sang, laughed with them, he even discussed with them, and slowly he mingled in, he became their friend.

One night, Combeferre reminded him of what he had said months before, about how he didn’t think he would have fit in with them. Feuilly laughed, remembering it, and then threw a glance at Bahorel from across the bar.

«He made me fit in.» he said, and Combeferre shook his head.

«I wouldn’t say that. He just got you out of the box, but you were already shaped to fit in this puzzle of drunks.» he said, and then got dragged away by a very drunk Courfeyrac, leaving him alone to think.

Bahorel had brought him out of his house, his habits, his head. If Combeferre was right, if the right angles had always been in him, then Bahorel at least blew out the dust that covered them. He owed him all that happiness, all those smiles, all those songs. He had never felt this free in his entire life, and it was thanks to him. It was almost a year since they first met, since they first argued.

He was lonely, then, and now he had all these people. All these friends.

Now he had Bahorel.

In all those months, they had got closer and closer, they had kept flirting and teasing, but none of them had ever made the first step, even if they both wanted to.

They wanted each other, it was clear every time they met eyes, every time they touched. God, Feuilly was even jealous of how the other men looked at Bahorel at the bar. He wanted him, with all his mess and his loud voice and his music and his pride, he wanted him quietly, without soul-crushing love declarations, or serenades or dramatic things that involved half of the city and were probably illegal in real life. He wanted to take his hand and kiss him softly when they sat together on the bus. He wanted to make him sleep in his bed instead of on the couch. He wanted to pay something for him without having him keeping the receipt to pay him back a few days after. He wanted to tell him he loved him without making it sound like a joke.

Feuilly sighed that night and asked Musichetta for another drink, as he did every other night when his mind got lost on that train of thoughts.

One day he would have given in to his heart. One day he would have overcame the fear of messing everything up. One day. Maybe.

*

A year passed, and even though their anniversary went unnoticed, unremembered, some of their friends started wondering what was really going on between them.

They kept meeting accidentally, without planning it, and somehow sill being surprised by it. They just knew where to find each other when they wanted to. Feuilly didn't even have Bahorel's phone number yet.

But then, when they were together, it was clear they weren't just casual acquaintances.

Even Marius had noticed it. Once, during a meeting, he was sitting next to Grantaire, and as Feuilly responded to something Enjolras had said, he had whispered to Grantaire «When Feuilly talks, Bahorel has the same face you have when you look at Enjolras.» Grantaire had grinned. Later, at home, he had patted Bahorel on the shoulder, saying «How fucked you are, man.» Bahorel hadn't even asked what he meant.

The sexual tension between them was almost embarrassing to witness. All their friends were rooting for them, and they were all exhausted of being always kept on the edge. They kept placing bets on how long it would have taken before the break. Grantaire always won.

«It's just like you and Enjolras all over again.» Courfeyrac had exclaimed one evening, paying his loss to Grantaire.

«At least I never pretended I wasn't pining.» Grantaire had replied.

«At least at some point you asked me out.» had added Enjolras, who was just starting to get involved in the matter.

After more than a year of buses and breakfasts and home cooked dinners, they still hadn't started dating.

Jehan had tried to say that maybe they were happy like that, they didn't need a typical relationship, they didn’t want anything more than that, but then he saw the hateful look Feuilly had threw at some guy who was flirting with Bahorel and he had hushed.

The thing was that, in truth, as in the most typical of not-yet-relationships, they were both waiting for the other to make the first step. They were stuck on an endless circle of "if he wanted to, he'd do it first", and they kept spinning, unable to get out on their own.

Eventually, it was Grantaire who took pity on them and started pushing Bahorel.

They had stayed up for a movie night, an old habit of them they hadn’t picked up in quite a long time. They went for some splatter b-movie, something light and bloody they could laugh about. Or at least, Grantaire was laughing.

When someone’s head got cut off and rolled on the ground for at least six meters and Bahorel didn’t even smile, Grantaire got that something was wrong and stopped the film.

«Hey, you okay?» he asked, turning on his side to face the other. Bahorel nodded.

«Wanna talk about it?» Grantaire said with a little smirk, placing a hand on his best friend’s forearm. Bahorel took a deep breath.

«I’m going crazy.» he said in a low voice. «It’s so stupid, I swear, just so damn stupid.» he sighed. Grantaire waited.

«I haven’t seen Feuilly in four days.» he let out, quickly, and blushed as Grantaire puffed out a laugh.

«Have you tried calling him?» he tried and Bahorel shook his head.

«It’s not something we do. We have our things, okay? He hasn’t come to the bar, he hasn’t taken his usual bus and I haven’t seen him in the morning. I think he’s avoiding me and I don’t know why and it’s driving me crazy but I also respect his decision and...» he sighed. «I don’t know what to do.»

«Maybe he’s been busy and he didn’t know how to tell you because he hasn’t got your number. Just call him.» Grantaire said, trying not to laugh at how stupid that whole think was.

«But it’s not...» Bahorel started saying, and Grantaire punched him on the shoulder, hushing him.

«Start doing it!» he said, and Bahorel didn’t even return the punch. He just pouted at the ground.

«But what if he’s really avoiding me because he’s bored of me and he doesn’t pick up? Maybe he’s seeing someone else.»

«Well, you couldn’t really be surprised.» Grantaire said. Bahorel turned around, too offended to pout, with a look of absolutely hilarious betrayal on his face.

«Dude, it’s been more than a year and you still haven’t asked him out. You haven’t been seeing each other, you’ve been randomly meeting without never getting something _done_.» Grantaire explained, putting a lot of emphasis on the last word, and Bahorel’s face dropped.

«I always thought... I mean, I was waiting for him. He’s the older one.» Bahorel said, and Grantaire just lost it.

«Oh my God, Bahorel. Seriously. What are you, twelve? I thought you were well out of high school but I was clearly mistaken. What the fuck does it mean he’s older? He’s also a lot shyer than you, and he hasn’t got a date in years. Do you know what years are? Very long things like the one you’ve been wasting lately!» he blurted out to Bahorel’s flushed face.

«You’re twenty-six, Bahorel, for fuck’s sake. Stop acting like a fucking high school girl. Take your fucking phone and call him and ask him out, if he still wants to talk to you.» he added, getting up, taking Bahorel’s phone from the socket where it was charging and throwing it at him.

«I swear to God if you don’t call him now I’ll beat you.» he said, and then stood in front of him with his arms folded and a disappointed mother look on his face.

Bahorel sighed, took his phone and selected Feuilly’s number, then sighed again.

Grantaire started tapping the ground with a feet.

Bahorel took a deep breath. His hands were shivering, and he felt like a high school girl calling her crush for the first time. (he kind of was, after all, but not even Grantaire would have been so mean to tell him)

Then, before he could think himself out of it, he closed his eyes and clicked the green button, starting the call. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was pretty sure he would have puked if he had opened his mouth. And then, Feuilly picked up.

«Hello?» he sounded sleepy.

«Hey, it’s Bahorel. You busy?» Bahorel somehow managed to breath out. Grantaire smiled, satisfied, and walked out of the room.

«Hey! Not at all, just tired. How are you?» he sounded surprised and happy, and Bahorel had never felt more stupid in his entire life.

«Fine, thanks. You? I haven’t been seeing you in a few days.»

«Yeah, sorry. I’m fine, I’ve just been doing a lot of overtime at work lately. I would have told you but, well, I didn’t know how.» he laughed on the last words.

«Yeah, it’s stupid, isn’t it? It’s been a year and we never called each other.» Bahorel laughed nervously.

Feuilly agreed and an awkward silence fell.

«So... you called just to make sure I was still alive?» Feuilly asked after a while.

«Emh... actually, no. I...» Bahorel took a deep breath. «I wanted to ask you something else.»

Feuilly waited.

«Are you, by any chance, free this Saturday evening? Or any other night, really. I’d like to, well, take you out? For dinner, I mean. Someplace nice. If you want.» Bahorel mumbled, fumbling with his words. His hands were so sweaty he was barely able to hold his phone in place.

«Ohw.» Feuilly said, and his heart stopped for a second. A billion of different ways to say ‘no’ passed in his mind in the half second Feuilly took to add «Yeah, I’d love to. I’m free on Monday, is it good?»

His voice was warm, his tone light and pleased, and Bahorel was about to explode.

«It’s perfect. I’ll... oh God, I’ll pick you up at eight?» he managed.

«Perfect.» Feuilly replied. Another awkward silence.

«See you, then.» Bahorel said after a while.

«See you.» Feuilly laughed softly. And, after another small very awkward silence, they hung up.

Bahorel hand instantly dropped. He was sweating and shivering and his heart was running so fast he thought he was on the edge of a heart attack. Grantaire walked back into the living room, smiling from ear to eear, but Bahorel was too stunned to pay attention to him.

«How bad was it?» he asked, sitting next to him.

In response, Bahorel let out a long, high pitched whine, putting his head in his hands.

«Yeah, I figured.» Grantaire laughed and, after having patted him on the back, restarted the movie.

*

Feuilly was surprisingly calm.

He had waited for him to ask him out since he had first hinted to it, that first morning in front of the hospital, too many months before, and he had feared for solong that Bahorel didn’t care enough to ask him. Now that he had, he was finally letting himself free to feel all the things he had tried to deny before.

Okay, maybe calm wasn’t exactly what Feuilly was. He still feared screwing things up, he hadn’t had a date in years, he didn’t even remember how they were supposed to be.

But he was so busy thinking about how happy he was he really had no time to worry that much.

On Monday morning Bahorel had sent him a text telling him to wear something formal and he hadn’t even worried about that.

(he might have texted Courfeyrac to ask him if a cardigan could be considered formal)

(the answer had been ‘Only if you really don’t have a jacket, but you’ll have it by tonight so no’)

Courfeyrac brought him a jacket when he went picking up Combeferre at work, saying that dark blue was just perfect with his hair and that if he had no trousers, he should at least wear the tightest jeans he had. He did.

He also retrieved a pair of elegant shoes from the back of his wardrobe, probably a souvenir from one of his old jobs.

At ten to eight he was ready, wandering around his living room looking for things to do while he waited, so busy trying to convince himself he was more excited than nervous that he didn’t even notice it was well past eight, and so the bell surprised him when it rang.

He went opening the door and his heart lost a beat when he saw Bahorel.

«Wow.» he let out, sizing him up. He was gorgeous, wearing a well tailored black suit, with his dreadlocks tied back in a high ponytail, a bunch of flowers in his hand and his usual wide, warm smile lighting up his face.

«I know, right?» Bahorel laughed, blushing, and Feuilly internally swooned. How stupid he had been, thinking he could be calm and controlled in such a situation.

Bahorel handed him the flowers. «These are Jehan’s. Well, no, they’re yours. Jehan made them. I mean grew them. And, assembled them. He said you would have understood what they meant. Apart from ‘I’m trying to be charming and gallant’, which is pretty obvious. Take them before I say something else.» he said, and Feuilly laughed taking them and going in, looking for something he could use as a vase.

He looked at them and he saw purple lilac, peach roses and Lily of the Valley, and, in the middle, a single wooden red rose he well remembered.

«How did Jehan choose these flowers?» Feuilly asked as he filled the vase with water.

«Well, he told me to tell him what... what I thought... felt... for...» he stopped, clearly embarrassed. Feuilly smiled fondly as he saw him blush. «He picked them up as I talked.» Bahorel finished, quickly, awkwardly, staring at the ground.

Feuilly observed the flowers again as he put them into the water and he smiled, swallowing back a lump of tears. If Bahorel really thought what those flowers were saying, well, dammit.

He had to swallow a couple of times more before he dared turn to Bahorel and talk again.

«So, are we going?» he managed.

Bahorel raised his eyes and nodded. «Yep, let’s go.» he smiled, turning around and walking out the door. Feuilly took his coat and followed him.

They got down the stairs and out of the building in silence, and once out, Feuilly started walking towards the bus stop and Bahorel had to stop him.

«You think we’re taking the bus?» he laughed at the other’s confused face. «I parked at the other end of the road.» he said, and, with another little laugh, he took his hand and guided him.

It had been such a natural gesture, as if he had done it other thousand times. His hand was big and warm and surprisingly dry in contrast with Feuilly’s sweaty one.

He walked him to the passenger side and opened the door for him.

«You know we’re grown up men and this isn’t necessary, right?» Feuilly teased him, but he appreciated it a lot. Bahorel snorted.

«Just shut up and let me be courteous, would you?» he said, and Feuilly laughed, getting inside the car and letting him close the door.

«But anyway, I didn’t even thought you had a driving licence and now you show up with a car? Seriously?» he asked as Bahorel got in the car and started the engine.

«Would you please stop offending me? At least for tonight. Can you do it?» Bahorel said, rolling his eyes.

«I was just asking, sorry. I thought nobody took the bus if they had any other choice.» Feuilly said defensively.

«I actually like taking the bus, but well, okay, this is Enjolras’ car. He lent it to me so that I could make a good impression, but it’s clearly impossible to impress you.» he said, pouting. Feuilly laughed nervously.

«I’m sorry, really. I...I am impressed.» he thought about the flowers again. «I really am. You’re courteous and lovely and thank you.» he said, and Bahorel did a funny face, trying to smile and pout at the same time. Feuilly smiled fondly.

«How many other people did you involve in this?» he asked, still teasing but trying to sound as sweet as possible.

«Only Jehan and Enjolras, actually. I tried to get Musichetta to make me rent the bar for an evening, but she didn’t even let me finish asking it.» he replied, then threw a glance at Feuilly’s jacket. «But I know for a fact that jacket is Courfeyrac’s. It’s his lucky one. He bought it right before our first exam, in college, like seven years ago.» he said, and Feuilly blushed, partly because Bahorel had recognised it and partly because he was flattered Courfeyrac has lent him such an important jacket.

«I bet he was thankful, he won a lot of money thanks to this date.» Bahorel said, and Feuilly looked confused.

«Why would he win... oh please, tell me they didn’t bet on us.» he said.

«They’ve been betting on us for months. Haven’t you noticed they always got a lot drunker lately?» Bahorel replied. «Courf is getting two weeks of free drinks if we get to third base, I bet my ass he wished you luck.»

«Your ass would actually be home run, if I remember well from high school?» Feuilly joked, and Bahorel laughed. «It’s not my fault. We just drink a lot more and have jobs, but most of us are still high schoolers deep inside.»

«Anyway, I’m sorry for Courfeyrac, really, but I have a three dates rule.» Feuilly said.

«Aww, I guess it’s strikeout for me.» said Bahorel, and they both laughed.

Feuilly didn’t know whether it was the baseball metaphors or the betting thing, but he was starting to feel like a teenager. The flowers, the awkward formal clothes, the lent car. He almost wanted to turn up the radio to see if he could find some Backstreet Boys song to sing along to.

«Okay, that’s the place.» Bahorel said, stopping the car in front of a restaurant.

A valet was standing next to a little stand with keys hung on it.

Bahorel got out of the car and went opening the door for Feuilly, he even offered him his hand to help him get out, and, even if he didn’t need it, Feuilly took it, trying not to laugh.

They walked towards the valet holding hands, Bahorel with his head up, as if he was challenging the young man in red uniform to say something about them, and Feuilly just smiling and feeling stupid and flattered and young.

«Good evening, _monsieurs_. You have a reservation?» the valet asked as they approached him, looking for a second too much at their joined hands and not hiding his disapproving expression fast enough for them not to notice.

«Yes. A table for two, name Bahorel.» Bahorel replied, as harshly as possible. The valet searched for a ticket in a little basket he had on his stand. «You can leave your car keys here and pick them up when you leave. This is your ticket. The cost will be added to your bill at the end of the evening.» he said, handing him a little piece of paper with his name printed on it.

«Don’t scratch it.» Bahorel said, taking the ticket and leaving the keys on the stand.

The valet smiled coldly. «Enjoy your evening, _monsieurs_.» he said, and handed the keys to another valet who had just came back from parking another car.

«This place seems so...» Feuilly tried to say as they walked towards the entrance, but before he could find the right word, Bahorel finished his sentence with a quite disgusted «Hetero.»

«I was going to say bourgeois, but also hetero, yes.» Feuilly smiled. «It’s also French.» he added, pointing at the sign, in big, bright, pink, cursive letters, saying _‘Pot-aux-Roses’_.

«Marius told me this place was good. Sometimes I forget that Marius taste sucks.» Bahorel said with a disappointed face and Feuilly laughed.

«It’s romantic, I guess. Well, let’s go gross out heterosexuals, shall we?» he said, intending it as a joke, but Bahorel lit up with sudden malice. He put up the best fake honeyed smile Feuilly had ever seen and walked forward, opening the door for him without letting go of his hand. He made him walk before him, and when they approached the reception he leaned against him and said «Your ass looks great in this pants.» in his ear, but loud enough for the receptionist to hear.

«I guess you meant jeans, because I’m not wearing pants.» Feuilly said, picking up on his intentions, and giggled. The receptionist struggled to keep a straight face.

«Good evening, _monsieurs_. You have a reservation?» she asked.

«Yes. A table for my baby and me. Name Bahorel.» Bahorel replied, with a creepily huge smile.

«If you’d follow me, please.» the girl said, avoiding eye contact, and guided them to their table. As they walked through the restaurant, holding hands and leaning against each other and giggling like two complete idiots, everyone turned to look at them. Someone was indifferent, someone smiled, but most people looked disgusted.

The receptionist made them sit at a table in a corner of the main room and forgot to wish them a good evening.

Keeping their joke running, they acted in the cheesiest way the dared to pull off. They made loud, absurd sex jokes about basically everything from the menu, they flirted with every waiter that served them, they spoon-fed each other, sometimes with forks, sometimes with fingers, they caressed each other’s hands and face, they laughed loudly and gave each other the weirdest pet names they could come up with.

They actually talked of casual and totally normal stuff, like work and their friends and what had happened in the world over the seven days in which they hadn’t met, but no one wanted to pay enough attention to them to understand what they were really saying.

Pretending to be a soppy couple was fun, but even funnier was the way their hearts actually sped up every time they touched, or how bad they wanted to kiss each other but they didn’t want to do it as part of the joke.

Bahorel almost lost it when he gave Feuilly a piece of cheese and he licked his fingers in such a lustful way he would have turned on a nun. Feuilly swooned a little when Bahorel let out a «Baby, I missed you so much» so sweet and heartfelt it seemed true.

They took that chance to say things they would have never dared to say in a serious situation, leaving the other to decide whether they were true or not.

«When did I begin loving you so much?» said Feuilly, smiling like an idiot.

«Oh, baby, you’re amazing. How could I live without you?» said Bahorel, reaching over to caress his cheek.

«I want you to fuck me so hard I’ll need crutches.» whispered Feuilly, loud enough to make an old woman blush a few tables from them.

«You’re so sweet I’d lick you like a lollipop.» breathed out Bahorel, kissing his fingertips.

If their friends had seen them in those moments, they would have facepalmed so hard they probably would have broken their noses.

They went on like that for an incredible amount of time considering all the effort that joke required.

(they would have never admitted it how much they enjoyed feeling like a couple)

At the end of the dinner, when they had shared their desserts, («I like seeing you dirty with my cream.»), and drank their coffees, («Dark and hot, baby, just like you.»), they asked for the check and everything went down.

«I won’t let you pay all of this.» Feuilly said, tapping on the receipt, and that was no joke.

«I can afford it. Really, I wouldn’t say this if I couldn’t.» Bahorel replied, already taking out his wallet.

«It doesn’t matter. I won’t let you spend a hundred dollars for me.» Feuilly insisted.

«It’s ninety-two. And I won’t let you spend them either.» Bahorel returned.

«We can split it. Damn, we have to split it.» Feuilly said, taking his own wallet.

«Forget it. I asked you out, I offer you dinner. That’s the rule.» Bahorel insisted, taking out a hundred-dollar bill and looking at the waiter standing next to them.

«The rule of my ass!» Feuilly exclaimed, making the waiter look around apologetically to the other costumers, reaching over to stop Bahorel.

«Well, also, if you want, later. But also the rule of dates.» Bahorel said, flashing a smirk and looking again at the waiter, asking him to intervene. Feuilly didn’t laugh.

«Please. This is stupid. Let’s split.» he said instead, trying to move him from his decision, but it was useless.

«Waiter, please, take this and keep the change.» Bahorel said, ignoring his date.

The waiter hesitated under Feuilly’s killer eyes. Bahorel rolled his eyes, fed up with all that fuss, stood up, took the receipt from the table and walked to the reception.

Feuilly tried to ran behind him but he tripped, and by the time he had reached the entrance, Bahorel had already paid the check and hid the receipt.

«You’re so, so fucked.» he said, staring at him, red as his hair.

«Yeah, I hope so. Let’s go.» Bahorel grinned, waving at the room and walking out. Feuilly followed him. He was angry at his stubbornness and his pride, and even angrier at how he didn’t care about his anger. But also, and he hated himself for that, he was happy to have someone treating him like he was special, like he was worth paying all that money for, because no one had ever done that in his entire life, and knowing that Bahorel cared so much about him flattered him and upset him at the same time.

«Hey! At least tell me how much was the fucking parking. Let me pay for something.» he shouted behind him, approaching the stand where he was talking with the valet.

«Not a chance. I chose to take the car, I pay for it.» Bahorel replied as the valet walked away.

«Why do you care this much about this? I’m begging you!» Feuilly asked, and he really wanted to beat him because they were having such a good time and now they were arguing over money and it was so damn stupid.

«Why do _you_ care so much about this! I told you I can afford it, just stop insisting! Accept the fact that people sometimes can pay things for you because they care about you and you don’t owe them shit!» Bahorel snapped, seriously exhausted. He liked arguing and fighting but not like that, not with Feuilly, not after such a perfect evening.

«So you care about me? That’s your excuse?» Feuilly yelled, and Bahorel looked confused. It didn’t even make sense.

«Yes... I... yes! That’s my excuse!» he replied anyway, just to say something. Feuilly sort of gaped, looking for something else to say, some way to have the last word, just he clearly couldn’t find it. Looking into Bahorel’s wide, hurt eyes, his anger wore itself off as quickly as it had risen.

«You’re so stupid. So fucking stupid.» he muttered, and Bahorel smirked at his defeat.

«I guess I am.» he said, challenging him, because that’s what they did.

Without realising it, they had got very close. There was no one around them, not even the valet. Feuilly took a step forward, getting even closer, probably closer than they had ever been.

«I want to punch you so hard, you... stupid.» he hissed, a few inches from Bahorel's face.

«Oh, yeah?» Bahorel asked, an arrogant smirk on his lips.

«Yeah. Punch you.» Feuilly repeated. «On your stupid mouth.» he added and Bahorel's grin widened. «With my mouth.» Feuilly said and smirked when he saw the other being surprised.

«Because I love you.» Feuilly whispered before leaning forward and kissing him.

They kissed. After more than a year of casually meeting and bonding and pining, after one the best and weirdest evenings of their lives, after having argued over something as stupid as them, they kissed, and it was perfect.

Slow and sweet, hungry and controlled at the same time. Feuilly cupped Bahorel’s neck, wishing he could run a hand through his hair. Bahorel, after having enjoyed a couple of second of being kissed, replied with enthusiasm, wrapping an arm around Feuilly’s waist and putting the other hand on the back of his head.

They kissed, and it was even better than what they both had imagined. They tasted of French cheese, wine and onions, but they couldn’t give a damn. They felt each other’s lips and tongue, warm and wet and sweet. They felt each other’s body pressed against their own, wrinkling their shirts and suddenly making their pants a little tighter.

They kissed, they hugged and then they parted, panting and smiling and feeling like teenagers, ready to jump on each other.

«Excuse me, sirs. Your car.» a valet shyly called them back to reality.

They laughed. «Yes, thank you.» Bahorel said, taking the keys. «Good evening.» he added, and the valet smiled awkwardly.

«Good evening to you, sirs.» he said, and returned behind his little stand as Bahorel and Feuilly got to the car. They kissed again leaning against one of the doors, and they kissed another time inside before leaving.

Then Feuilly slouched on his seat, pressing his sweaty forehead against the cold window, while Bahorel tried to focus on driving.

«I guess I was stupid indeed, anyway.» he said after a while, throwing a glance at Feuilly, who was still smiling and trying to calm down.

«What made you came to this absolutely unexpected realisation?» he asked with a snarky smile.

«You can’t be snarky while I’m trying to be sweet, asshole.» Bahorel laughed. Feuilly pretended to look sorry.

«Okay, sorry, let’s do this again.» he said, and looked away. Bahorel rolled his eyes and played with it.

«I guess I was stupid indeed, anyway.» he repeated.

«Why you say so, sugar cube?» Feuilly asked.

«Because I waited more than a year before kissing you.» Bahorel said anyway, and Feuilly awwed, reaching over to kiss him on his cheek.

«I guess I was just as stupid as you, then.» he said, and leaned back on his seat.

Fifteen minutes later Bahorel stopped the car in front of Feuilly’s house. He got out, opened the door for Feuilly, helped him out and walked him to the door of his condo.

«I’d ask you if you want to come up but I know you have work tomorrow and you have to bring the car back to Enjolras.» Feuilly said, smiling.

«Yeah, I bet those two are just waiting for me to come back.» he said, making a face. «I just hope they’re in R’s bedroom. I already faced Enjolras’ private parts a time too much.»

«Should I be jealous?» Feuilly laughed.

«Nah. He’s too thin. And I like gingers.» Bahorel said, running a hand through Feuilly’s hair and leaning over to kiss him.

«And I can’t think in that way about people who’ve been with my friends.» he added, thinking about it. Feuilly blushed.

«What if I told you I had sex with Jehan, years ago?» he asked, and Bahorel laughed.

«That doesn’t count. Probably everyone I know had sex with Jehan. He just likes to get intimate with people he likes.» he said, and Feuilly looked a bit relieved.

«Well, then. Nobody gets jealous.» he smiled. They kissed again. And again. And another time.

«I should go.» Feuilly sighed, pressing his forehead against Bahorel’s.

«Yeah, me too.»

They kissed again.

«Good night.» Again. «Good night.» Again. «See you tomorrow.» Again. «Your turn for breakfast.» Again. «I know.» Again. «No French pastries, please.» Again. Feuilly laughed into the kiss.

«Okay, we’re getting ridiculous.» he said and pulled away.

«Good night.» Bahorel repeated, smiling.

«Are you free on Friday? I want to take you out for dinner.» Feuilly asked.

Bahorel laughed, saying yes. Feuilly said good night. They kissed again, one last time.

They felt like someone was about to appear at a window and tell them to stop. They felt so young and stupid, like they could just stay there all night talking of nothing and kissing and just being together.

They sighed, looking at each other.

They said good night again, both of them, and then Bahorel turned around and walked back to the car. They met eyes one last time before Feuilly took the courage to look away and turn and go home.

Bahorel sighed, getting in the car and pressing his forehead against the steering wheel. He smiled. How good it felt, being that fucked for someone.

*

A few days later Bahorel showed up late and out of breath in front of the hospital.

«The other night, what did you say before kissing me?»

«I said I love you.»

«You love me.»

«Yeah.»

«I...I love you too.»

«Good.»

«I’m late.»

«Then go.»

«I love you.»

«Me too.»

They kissed. Bahorel run away.

*

They went out again, on that Friday, and other times.

Feuilly had a three dates rule, but they barely did anything more than just making out until the tenth date. They slowly paced from base to base instead of running. Their friends kept losing bets.

They took their time, they learned to know each other in a more intimate way, they learned trust and care with the fear of losing, they learned sharing.

They learned what love really was, they studied it, embraced it and lived it to the fullest.

Months later, after the umpteenth date, Feuilly asked Bahorel to come up for a drink. It felt like being eighteen again, scared and excited, shivering with so many feelings all together.

They drank a couple of beers, they kissed a lot, they dragged each other to the bed, they took their time to play, to explore, to experiment. As if it was the first time for the both of them.

There was hunger, for the long time of waiting. There was anxiety, for the long time of abstinence.

They felt like virgins, shy and shivering as they held onto each other.

It was slow and clumsy and sweet. It was perfect.

(Courfeyrac finally won his bet, and it was the last one)

*

One night they were at Combeferre’s, drinking and playing truth or dare.

It was Bahorel’s turn. He spun the bottle. When it stopped on Feuilly, they looked at each other right in the eyes. Feuilly chose dare.

«I dare you to move in with me.» Bahorel had said.

Someone had awwed. Feuilly had shrugged, accepting the dare.

They began looking for a house the day after.

*

Three years later, another night, another drunken sleepover, Feuilly had dared Bahorel to marry him.

Bahorel had accepted with the same nonchalant shrug Feuilly had done years before.

*

They never regretted anything.

Bahorel kept singing to his headphones out loud, and Feuilly kept complaining, even if he now knew how to make him hush.

They kept arguing over stupid things, sometimes risking a break up. They kept asking each other out, even after they moved in together. They kept feeling young, even when the first white hair started showing. They kept being stupid, even when they became parents of two Indian kids. They kept going to the _Pot-aux-Roses_ for every anniversary.

And against all differences and contrasts, all the fights and the problems, they kept daring to love each other.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be inspired to a little, innocent prompt on tumblr, but things kinda got out of hand and I ended up with this.  
> Just because this wasn't fluff enough, i have to tell you that purple lilac means first love, peach rose means closing of a deal and sincerity, and Lily of the Valley means sweetness, purity of heart, "you've made my life complete". And the wooden red rose is a reference to how Jehan and Feuilly met but also of course, a single red rose means "I love you". So yeah, Bahorel's a soppy loser, if you hadn't noticed.  
> The "Pot-aux-Roses" was the former name for the Corinthe, in the brick. I just thought it would be a cute nod to their original Frenchness, giving that this fic is set in the United States.  
> Betaed by my beloved [barricadeuse ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/barricadeuse/pseuds/barricadeuse), who's always so patient and awesome and you all should love her.  
> I hope you liked this, I hope you'll leave me some comments, but I'll love you even if you won't.  
> Come say hi on my [ tumblr ](http://myhearthasbeenwelltrained.tumblr.com/), if you want c:


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